Faith
by amyblair
Summary: Dean's time is running out and Sam is all out of ideas... when help arrives from an unexpected source; will Dean be saved? And if so, what will happen to Sam? Rated M for language. Don't own them...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The café was small, crammed with furniture and local paraphernalia, but there was hardly anyone left inside. The breakfast regulars had already finished and the lunch crowd wasn't quite ready to shuffle in. Dean and Sam sat across from one another, in front of the large window to the outdoors, the sun just warming up to the Midwestern state. Iowa. It had been breezy all morning and Sam still had his tan jacket pulled around him, Dean had stripped to his charcoal t-shirt. Neither of the Winchester brothers was in the mood to eat – coffee, some toast – but nothing real, substantial. It perhaps had to do with the fact that as far as they could calculate, Dean's time was running out. A couple of days, maybe three. Maybe. Sam had woken up that morning, looked over at his sleeping brother and went into the bathroom and thrown up. He couldn't help it. His hands had shook, his eyes had teared up and spots had blinded him for a few seconds, making him feel as though he was going to pass out. Thank God for the coolness of the bathroom floor, he had thought. It had kept him awake, sane and blind to Dean's eyes.

Dean let out a sigh. Lately it was always a sigh. Nothing more. Sam looked down. "I'll call Bobby in a little while. See if he's found anything."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

Sam looked out the window and watched the little action happening in his small picture of the world. A woman's yellow coat blew in the wind, she grabbed it tighter to wrap it around herself and a child next to her, lost her hand for a moment and then regained it again. Delicate in the wind.

They had came to Iowa on a whim, hearing there was an old Indian remedy for breaking curses, breaking bonds with spirits, devils. The road had only led them to a ghost town, nothing had been living there for years. They had asked around and no one had ever met anyone from around there that was even half Indian. Every chance of breaking the deal had ended like this recently. All roads ended with nothing. All of them were dead ends.

Their food arrived and Sam gulped down a rise in his throat. Dean picked up the coffee and took a drink. He picked up a package of jelly from a small bowl and then held it out to his brother. Sam reached for it, their index fingers touching for a brief second and Dean thought he was going to drop the bowl in a horrible smash all over the table. He quickly looked away and glanced at the counter, at the cashier, at anything that wouldn't take his mind off the deadly stillness between them.

So they sat in silence, ate in silence. Each could hear their own jaws moving, chewing food, sipping on coffee and juice – it was all that filled their ears. The jingle of the register, the ring of the doorbell blowing in occasionally occurred and then Dean thought maybe he caught something else. Low in the background, there came a whistle. Quiet at first, but it was there beyond the news report on the TV. Sam heard the waitress let out a laugh and the whistle seemed to get louder and perhaps change as though it was a missile plummeting to Earth. He glanced up at his brother, but Dean had already stopped chewing and his eyes were locked on Sam. The sound got louder, seeming to take over all the noises in the restaurant, but no one else appeared to notice. They continued working and talking as though they couldn't hear the world was coming to an end.

Both Winchester brothers grabbed at the small table that separated them when the ground started to shake from an apparent impact. Dean rocked back and forth in the vinyl booth, watching Sam as he rocked the same way. It took a moment for them to catch their breaths as the shaking settled and their surroundings began to return to a normal state. Sam reached over and picked up the salt and peppershakers, replacing them back with the dessert menu. Dean looked around at the others, but again no one seemed to be the wiser. At the same time, the boys bolted from their seats and ran to the swinging café door, opening it up abruptly. They looked frantic, both to the left, the right, straight-ahead, up and down. Nothing. The wind still blew. The lady with the yellow coat was almost out of sight now, her child still walking sweetly next to her. A man crossed the street, maybe heading for the bank. It was all… normal, quiet.

"Sir?"

The brothers turned around and saw their waitress, short and skinny staring at them, bewildered.

"Sir, is one of you going to pay for breakfast?"

Dean and Sam exchanged looks and then retreated back into the restaurant, they sat clumsily into their booth and looked up at the young lady. Her name pin said, "Lola". Of course, Dean thought. "Are you done eating?" She asked callously.

Sam frowned. "Almost." And after a quick pause, he curiously questioned, "Did you feel that earlier?"

Lola gave them an odd look. "Feel what?"

"The shaking, the whistle from outside?"

Lola stared at the young men as though she thought maybe she was on Candid Camera or Punk'd. She looked out the large glass window in front of all of them and a dog suddenly appeared, staring into the café. It gave a ferocious bark, staring right at Dean. Dean's body jerked away, his head whipping towards the animal. Oh, no. The hounds of hell. He gulped. Already? No, it wasn't time yet!

"No, no shaking or whistling, but there's Duke. Looking for his mid morning snack I s'pose." She placed a finger out towards the window. The dog-focused on Lola and started wagging his tail so fast, his whole butt started to move. "I'm coming, Duke," she called and turning from them she walked over to the counter and grabbed some old bacon she'd been saving back from the breakfast herd.

The men let out simultaneous sighs, both of them sinking in the booth, relief momentarily flowing over them.

"Oh, my God," one of them whispered.

Dean looked up. "I thought…"

"It wasn't, Dean."

"I know, but…" Dean grabbed at his tightening chest with his fist. The color had left his face. "I can't take much more of this, Sammy."

Sam felt something tug at his heart just then. His stomach lurched a bit and his face flushed with heat. He looked at Dean, not having any words. None.

"I feel like a dead man walking," Dean's voice rang in his ears.

Sam turned from his brother to look back out the window. The dog had gone and now there was a woman standing, facing the both of them. She pulled her face in closer to the window and really looked at Sam, studying his face and suddenly she lit up into a bright grin. Sam was puzzled, his neck lurched back and he gawked at her, clearly unsure of whom she was. He shrugged his shoulder at her. She was mouthing something at him, but Sam wasn't catching what her lips were trying to say. Finally she waved her hand at him, as to say, no matter, it's okay and she walked from the window and into the restaurant. The ring of the swinging door and the breeze of the wind came as a surprise – a warm feeling - to Sam as the woman walked in. She approached their booth and looked over to see Dean completely slumped down, looking wary, defeated. She waved her hands to the still confused Sam and encouraged him to scootch down. Without hesitation, Sam did exactly that.

The woman was of an average height, plump around the middle, with a round sweet face, younger – maybe in her early to mid thirties. Her hair was blond, wavy, cascading down to her shoulders, her eyes an icy green. She wore a white shirt, blue jeans, and white tennis shoes, carrying with her a white satchel to make the outfit! She looked at the brothers and smiled and Sam thought to himself – maybe he did know her. Something was familiar about her. Had he met her before?

" Can I get you something?" Lola returned upon sight of the potential new customer.

The woman looked to what Sam and Dean were eating and made a funny face. "Do you have pancakes?" she asked, a bit excited.

"Yeah."

"I'd like an order of the biggest stack of pancakes you have," the woman responded.

Lola snapped her gum. "What kind of syrup?"

"What do you have?" again, her voice seemed to sing, the more excited she became over these pancakes.

Lola threw her hip out and twirled her hair slightly. 'Maple, honey, blueberry, strawberry…"

"Just bring me all of them," the woman interrupted.

Lola looked for a moment and then said under her breath, "_All_ of them." She started to turn and then looked back. "Oh, is this still on one ticket?"

The woman smiled and answered, "Yes."

When she had turned her attention back to the brothers, both of them were staring at her, fuzzily. There was a slight happy shrug of her shoulders towards them and the fact that she couldn't stop smiling was giving Dean the creeps.

He looked at Sam, pointing at the woman. "Who's Mrs. Butterworth, Sam?"

Sam's eyebrows came down. "I don't know."

"Oh, my, you don't know me, right?" the woman seemed half surprised, half not. She waited a moment, perhaps giving them a chance to come up with an answer, but neither was playing so she continued. "I'm Abia. Well, not really, but that's what you can call me. My real name is _really_ hard to pronounce in your language.

Dean looked at Sam and then back at Abia. Sarcasm dripped from his tone, "Don't tell me… you're a mermaid?"

She laughed hard at him and then gave him a bizarre look. "You're a quiz, aren't you?"

"A quiz? Oh my, God, Sammy…"

Sam looked to his left. "Is there something we can help you with?" he tried.

Abia looked at the brothers. "You are the Winchesters, right?"

Sam and Dean nodded.

"Oh, good, sometimes I get it wrong, but I thought I was right. I saw your scar." She reached up and pointed to Sam's right hand, where he had gotten wounded in battle, "and yours," she motioned to Dean's shoulder and chest where he had scars, which were currently covered by his t-shirt.

Dean pointed to himself. "My scars? You can't see any of my…" his voice trailed off.

"Well, _they_ can't," she gestured to the café patrons, "but I can. And then I knew you were the Winchesters. Your Sam and Dean. I only have certain pictures in my mind of you, so I have to sort of put them together like a puzzle. Your scars are stories from where you've been and then I knew when I saw them that I was where I was needed."

"Where you were needed?" Dean probed. "You think we need you."

Lola arrived with the pancakes and Abia squirmed in the seat next to Sam. She nudged her dinner partner with her elbow. "Just a warning, I'm not going to share," she joked with the younger man. She reached for two kinds of syrups – maple and strawberry – and started with them. After slicing a large piece of the flapjack, she inserted them into her mouth and made a sound of pure happiness. A sound the boys were familiar with when it came to women but not normally when they encountered breakfast foods. Abia pointed to her plate, "This is so good!" she exclaimed.

Dean cleared his throat. "I don't mean to rush you through this, lady, but I don't think you are going to be able to help us."

Abia swallowed, took a drink of her large chocolate milk and wiped her mouth. "You're right. I'm here to help him." She signaled to Sam sitting next to her now with a gaping mouth. She lowered her voice to Sam. "I'm here to help you help me help him." She gestured to Dean.

Dean threw his arms out into the air. "Oh my God."

Abia pointed her fork at him. "Exactly." She stabbed the pancake with the utensil and started on another bite.

Sam blinked at her. An idea was slowly dawning on him, but he dare not say the words for fear of Dean's reaction. Sam put his long fingers to his forehead, his elbow resting on the table and stared at this woman. "How did you know where to find us?" he asked.

Abia looked over at him. "You told me."

He was perplexed. "I did?"

Abia nodded. "Yes, for 363 days now you have asked for someone to come and help, but we're just now getting through all the paperwork and, well, you don't care about that stuff, but we're sorry it's taken so long. I'm pleased to tell you that He can help you."

Dean smirked. "Who's He?"

"God, of course. Silly!"

Dean rolled his eyes and sat up straight, looking at Sam. "I've had enough, you, too? Great let's go." Dean rose to leave, but Sam sat still. He looked at Dean, pleading with his eyes. _Where are we going to go? We have no other options_. Dean hesitated for a moment and then swung back in the booth. "Are you seriously listening to her, Sammy?"

"He likes to be called Sam," Abia chimed in.

Dean ignored her. "She just shows up…"

"Actually I just dropped in. Right before I got here, I fell out of the sky."

Dean's jaw muscles throbbed. "You fell out of the sky?"

"Yes. Didn't you hear it? Usually it makes a lot of racket when one of us comes to Earth. The ground shakes, the sound barrier sings."

Dean looked back to Sam. "Come on. This isn't real. It isn't."

Sam glanced over at Abia. "Why do you think _I_ told you where we were?"

Abia was eating more of the pancake and looked up over her much smaller stack. "For 363 days you've been praying the same prayer." Rapidly, she reached into her white knapsack she was carrying and pulled out a small white notebook. She flipped through it quickly and stopped. "August 14th, Dear God, please save my brother Dean, September 3rd, Dear God, please save my brother Dean, November 7th please, God, save my brother Dean, December 25th please God, save my brother Dean. There are 363 prayers, every day for almost a year now from Sam Winchester asking God to save Dean."

Dean's eyes bore imaginary holes into Sam's forehead from where he sat.

"And you're saying, God got those prayers?" Sam asked, wanting so badly to believe this was possible.

Abia nodded. "Of course he did. Like I said, sorry we're a little late. We've been backed up."

Sam shook his head. "So you're an… angel?"

"I'm a _guardian_ angel." She said it so convincing, Dean even got a lump in his throat.

"Whose?" Dean asked, turning again pessimistic, "Mine or his? And where've you been all the other times we need you?"

Abia put her finger to her lips to silently hush Dean. "You humans get it so confused. No one has their own guardian angels. We're not personal assistants, but were are around. We just aren't assigned to any one human."

Sam was more eager to get back at the question on the breakfast table. "So you can save Dean?"

Abia took another bite of her stack, again pointing at them with her fork. "These really are phenomenal." She chewed and swallowed, enjoying every moment. Then turning towards Sam, she answered, "No. I can't _save_ anybody. But I can help you to make your request to God more visible. Like I said you have to help me help you help him."

Dean was growing tired. "So there's a Heaven? Wait, is it Iowa? If I build, will he come?"

"Of course there's a Heaven. Is that so hard for you to believe?" Neither brother said anything to that question which never seemed to have a definite answer anyway. Abia looked at them, hurtfully.

Sam's eyes narrowed at her. She really did seem familiar to him. In a soft voice, almost a whisper, the endearment escaped him before he knew it, "Mom?"

Abia laughed. She reached out and firmly placed her palm gently over Sam's entire backhand. Sam thought he was going to melt away from the sensation. She looked up and rested her eyes with his. "No, Sam. I'm not your mother, but she is with us."

"With who?" Dean growled from across the table. There was nothing about this… fallen angel… that was going to convince him of the existence of cherubs, angels, and dead mothers living happily up in Heaven.

"Where do you think your mother currently resides?" She inquired, her gaze holding with Sam's. She broke free of her hold on Sam and flipped though her notebook again. "Ah, right here, your mom – Mary - she says 'Hi'. And she wants you to know she is doing okay." She turned to Sam. "And Jess is with us, too, she says to tell Sam everything that happened, it wasn't your fault."

Without any warning a tear streamed down Sam's cheek rolling all the way down his neck. He never even had time to reach up and wipe it away.

Dean drooped back in the booth's vinyl again. He felt his chest pound, not sure if it was frustration or heartache, he but refused to look at his little brother, not trusting his own emotions. Everything inside his head told him that this could not be real, there was no Heaven, no lighted afterlife with tunnels and singing and pearly gates. There couldn't be, he had never – not once – ever encountered proof that any of this existed. Demons, yes. Hell, yes. Coincidence, yes. Heaven couldn't possibly be sitting on the side with coincidences. Meshed in unknown continuation. No, that was too vague, too vast, too easy. If it existed, he would have seen something before this. Something real.

"Our Dad," Dean lifted his eyes, almost sounding accusing.

"John Winchester was.. a wonderful man. I wish we could have saved him. He just didn't give us enough time. He made that deal so fast by the time we knew… he was already gone." Abia's voice was so crystal, so clear, so honest. Dean wanted to accept this woman's answers.

"Is there any hope for him?" Sam's eyes pleaded.

Abia shook her head. "I don't have all the answers, I'm sorry. Miracles happen. Sometimes things shift and we get a few wondrous souls from below to come and join us. Your Dad, what he did, was such a great sacrifice for you," she looked at Dean, "and what your mother did for you," she turned to look at his little brother. "You had such amazing parents, you should both feel so blessed."

Sam looked away, feeling the hot burn of tears again. He swallowed hard and tried to block the mounting emotions inside of him. Two days, maybe three. Maybe. And now this woman shows up to offer help, guidance. He let a shaky breath out and tried to calm his body down. It felt like a racehorse was inside of him, running the Kentucky Derby. Her words rang out – _help me, help you, help him_.

"You said," Sam pulled himself together for a moment, "you could help me."

Abia swirled the remaining blueberry syrup around her plate. "You guys have done such a great job fighting for us…"

"Fighting for _who_?" Dean interrupted.

"Whose side did you think you were on all this time?" She giggled.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't know. The greater good of mankind."

"It's a war, Dean, just like in real life. There are sides to this war. One of Good and one of Evil. Whether you know it or not, every time you have successfully achieved your goal, you have helped us in our plight. The greater good of mankind is sort of just a perk for you. Something tangible." Abia took a bite her pancakes almost gone now. The syrup dripped just a bit and then seemed to disappear from her lips like magic. "I can't save anyone, but I can give you tips on how you can summon us to help your brother when the time comes."

Sam sat up, interested, focusing on the woman who as she had been speaking to him was becoming more and more beautiful to him. He nodded. "Okay."

Abia turned and gave Sam her full attention. "When you get ready for bed tonight, you need to pray."

"I knew it!" Dean exclaimed, hitting his hand down hard on the table. "Jehovah's Witness, right? Well, I'm not paying for your hotcakes, Aunt Jemima!"

Abia narrowed her eyes at the older Winchester and leaned across the table, her ample bosoms just missing the sticky plate in front of her. "I know a yellow-eyed demon targeted your family, I know that you – Dean Winchester – at the age of four was entrusted with known target in one sweep of your Dad's hand. I know that you felt it the moment you held your baby brother in your arms. I know that you sold your soul to buy your brother's life back – something – by the way - you should never, ever, _ever_, **ever**, _**ever**_ do. I know that right now, you are scared as Hell wondering when is it going to be – today, tomorrow, the next. It's coming. You can feel it with every breath and it doesn't seem like it was such a great idea anymore, does it? And Sam is here, he's alive and you're scared. You're scared about what this is going to do to him when your gone, but you won't tell him that. You have pain, he has pain, but neither of you will talk about that, not even now. Not even with two days left."

"Maybe three," Sam whispered.

Abia looked at him. "Two. Two days." She focused on Dean again. "They'll come for you at midnight."

"Jesus Christ." Dean looked warn, sick. The time. The date. His death. He shook his head and tried to get her words to unscramble. "We pray?"

Abia nodded.

"Tonight?"

Abia smiled. "Yes. And then they'll come tomorrow night – at midnight."

"But you said two days…" Sam interjected.

"They count that as the second day. They're demons, not the IRS." She sounded sad for them, empathetic of their dilemma.

Lola's skinny framed appeared at the table. She pointed to the empty plate. "Finished?"

Abia nodded. "It was Heavenly." Lola gathered the plates and glasses and smiled at them. Abia smiled back and under her breath she stated, "She's having an affair on her husband. He just doesn't give her the attention anymore. I think he may be losing her. You don't realize how to keep the one you love sometimes, what to say to them, until it's too late. And usually the answer is so simple." Then after a sigh she excused herself. "Well, thanks for the pancakes. I've got to be going. Good luck to you boys. It was a pleasure meeting the both of you. Pray and hopefully I'll see you tomorrow night." She stood and bent over the small table, touching both Dean and Sam's shoulders simultaneously. She closed her green eyes and mumbled a few silent words, reaching her hands to the top of the brother's heads, they instinctively closed their eyes with her. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes. "Bless you both," she whispered. And when the Winchester's opened their own eyes, the angel was nowhere to be found.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sam opened the door to the dingy motel. Dean followed behind him, both of them appeared to be dumbfounded on their recent encounter, not knowing what to say or even how to get their thoughts around the occurrence. Dean sat on his bed and the mattress drooped heavily. Dean sighed slightly. Lousy, cheap, flimsy mattress, he thought, trying to get his hind area comfortable. Sam, on the other hand, flopped his entire body over his bed, the headboard shaking for an unusually long period of time. His lanky arm covered his eyes immediately and he lay still, trying to take everything in.

"Dude," Dean tried to start.

"She was an angel, Dean." Sam stated sternly, not wanting to fight about this.

Dean shook his head, still not unscrambling everything. "How, how can that be? You prayed and God sent down an _angel_ to help us?" He paused. "What is this? Some bassackward scene from _It's a Wonderful Life_?"

Sam sat up and rested his bony elbows on his knees, making fists with his hands so his head could perch. He looked over at the table and lamp combinations which was beyond it's fashioned days. He traced the golden leafed picture on the lamp, it seemed to be a flower. "I don't know, Dean… I just know, time is running out. We've tried everything. We're running out of options." He was silent for a moment, feeling the aggravation from his brother's body vapor across the bed. "I don't know what else to do," he sounded desperate. "Pray, I know it doesn't sound like much to you, but there is a power behind it. I believe that." He watched Dean hang his head down. He could see his words were reaching him, somewhere deep inside, making a bit of sense. "Two days. Dean, I can't…" Sam's voice broke but her recovered quickly, "I'm gonna be alone. I'm…" searching for the right word, it hit him, "I'm scared, Dean."

Well, Dean couldn't have that. He looked out into the dusty air of the motel room and nodded his head slowly. "Okay," he agreed. "It can't hurt, right?"

Sam breathed air of relief, filling his lungs. "Right."

They sat for a few moments, both fidgeting, at different times, with the bed spread, with keeping their bodies from sliding from the feeble mattresses, with their hands and their hair. Both fidgeted constantly inwardly, at their hearts, words unspoken eating at both of them. Uncomfortable, embarrassed looks between each other, quickly looking away if the other's eyes fell upon the other. Sighs meant for no one, glances which went beyond the walls that contained them.

Dean stood up and walked to the vanity, meeting his own tired orbs in the mirror hanging above the sink. He caught a glare from the medallion around his neck and his fingers reached up to lightly graze it. Sammy. He turned around to look at his brother, still sitting oddly on the bed. "Dude, do you think she could see us naked?"

Sam let out a chuckle. "I don't know, maybe just you."

"Well," Dean rubbed his calloused hand roughly on his face, "in that case, she'll show up tomorrow night."

Night had came rather quickly, the boys had noted, neither of them expressing the observation to the other. It seemed they were always longing for one more hour lately. Sam had made the decision to stay where they were, it may make it easier for an entity to locate them. Bobby had called and suggested Sam take Dean to a cemetery to renounce Satan on deathly grounds, burning black magic art and attempting to seal it with Dean's blood. Sam shook his head, but agreed. He was ready for anything that would work.

He and Dean had retreated back to the cozy diner for dinner. They had ate in deep silence. Dean had country-fried steak while Sam chose the beef pot roast. The food was perfectly prepared, mouthwatering from the first bite, they each had a couple of Flat Tire's to wash it down, tasted smooth going down their throats and they knew it would taste vile when it came back up. Everything was getting so close, neither one of them could barely breathe.

They walked back to the hotel, the café had only been down the street from where they had parked the night before. The wind kicked up every block they crossed, sending a chill through the air that finished under their jackets, against their skin. It seemed to burn Sam's eyes as they continued their quiet walk, wondering if it was from the dust punting at them or something else that they couldn't quite see yet. He inhaled the air, but only smelled the sweet outdoors of a small Iowan town… Heaven.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean finally said. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Why don't you try not to think, then," Sam replied, sarcastically.

"It's so hard to believe…"

Sam sped his walking up, leaving Dean panting to keep up with him. "Do me a favor, Dean, and… shut the hell up."

Dean increased his strides. "I just don't want you to be disappointed."

Sam reeled around, glaring at his brother. "Shit, Dean! Disappointed? Disapp… Jesus, you don't even know what you're saying." He put his hands against his brother's chest and shoved him, hard, sending Dean suddenly stepping back a few steps in the opposite direction. Dean's body twitched, starting for Sam and then he stopped. The younger Winchester was ready and Dean knew he was no match for him. Not then. Sam snorted at him for a few seconds and then turned, walking with his hands crammed in his jacket pockets back to the motel.

Dean stood on the sidewalk, breathing, he looked down and noticed his own hands were clutched in fists of rage. He was immediately horrified at himself and opened his palms, stretching his fingers out. He took a deep breath, looked around to see if anyone had noticed what might have been and then felt relief when he realized they were alone on the street. Dean waited and then followed behind Sam, sullen.

By the time they had reentered their motel room, both men were exhausted. Sam slumped down in the corner chair and held his forehead to his two fingers. He rubbed at his temple trying to bring himself back to the here and now.

Dean had walked by him and straight into the bathroom. He stripped off all his clothes and turned the water on, stepping inside without hesitation. He aimed his face directly under the sprayer, the wetness cascading like a small waterfall down his scarred body. He reached up with the soap and started washing himself, his chest, his arms, his armpits and then repeated the same areas. Over and over again. His strokes increased with vigor as the suds spilled down him, tickling his legs, his inner thighs. He scrubbed until his hands started to cramp from the decreasing size of the soap and wearily he pressed his forehead against the wall of the shower. He let in a breath and then he trembled. He felt his legs start to give, his knees buckling, the water mixing with sweat from the top of his head, felt like it was suddenly crashing down on him. _I'm dying_, he thought with a shudder. It had came so fast.

"Dean?" Sam knocked on the bathroom door, shocking Dean back to the shower. He immediately stood and pushed the lever to the off position.

"I'm okay!" I called out to his little brother. "Just… I'm okay."

There was a pause from the other side of the door and then a weak, "Okay," returned back to him.

_Jesus Christ_, Dean thought. _Sammy_. He put his wet hand over his heart and breathed. It was for certain broken. He couldn't believe he could still feel it beat.

Boom-boom, the feeling ached inside of him as he climbed out of the shower stall and dried off, preparing for the last-ditch effort (that he was for certain to be unsuccessful) to save his own life.

By the time he had exited the bathroom, steam rolling out behind him, Sam was already in position, already started without his brother, maybe saying things he didn't want to him to hear. Dean threw his towel in the corner and glanced over at Sam, kneeling in front of his bed. His head bent down as his shaggy brown hair wisped at his knuckles, clutched tightly together. Sam quietly spoke. So quiet it wasn't even a whisper and Dean found himself leaning his body closer in his brother's direction in case he could catch a phrase, a word or a syllable. But Sam spoke too softly for him to make anything out. Guarding each word that he prayed even from this person he hoped it would protect.

Dean leaned his back against the motel's old wall and let a sigh out, a bit loud for just the two of them in the room. He felt what he thought was anger – or maybe even frustration - mustering deep inside himself, not realizing it was sadness that he had buried there long ago. He watched as Sam's shoulders sunk, his back arched and his head bowed down even further. Dean scratched his barefoot against the old plaster wall and suddenly found himself walking in a huff towards his brother, going down on one knee next to him.

Sam looked over in his direction and stopped his precious speech. "What're you doing, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em..." he let out a nervous chuckle.

Sam sighed heavily and looked away from his big brother, concentrating back to his folded hands. He closed his eyes and seemed to start praying again, but this time there were no words, just the slight movement of his lips parting every now and then.

Dean watched him. He shifted his weight next to him, bringing both knees onto the floor, raising his tired arms to rest on the mild softness of the bed and brought his hands together. First, he pointed his fingers up towards the ceiling. He glanced up to where they were pointing and not sure why, he decided intertwining them might be a better choice. He locked them together and brought his forehead down to rest on them. He waited. Not wanting to be the first person to ever start a conversation, Dean remained silent awaiting somebody to start for him. Divine intervention? Was the voice of an angel going to enter his head and coach him along? He wasn't sure of the next step. What was he suppose to say? And slowly it dawned on him that he didn't even know one prayer. How was someone supposed to go home and pray when he didn't know the magic words?

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…" the words sliced through Dean's ears and he looked to his left. "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…" Divine intervention. "Give us this day, our daily bread…" The voice of an angel. "And forgive us our trespasses…" His brother. "And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil…" Dean gulped. Deliver us from evil. Not into the evil, not into death. Not yet.

"That was the Lord's Prayer," Sam said mater of factly after a short pause between them.

Dean frowned. "Yeah. I know that." At least he _recognized_ it.

Sam looked at his brother in disbelief. "You've really never have prayed, have you?"

Dean looked down, somewhat ashamed of himself. His shoulders sagged and he looked up at Sam with his sharp green eyes and simply shook his head. Sam turned and looked ahead of himself, staring at the 1970's table and lamp set, all meshed together. He stared at the golden floral design and traced it with his eyes. Funny to him now that it looked like it wasn't a flower at all, but maybe a heart or… wings. He looked back down and towards his big brother.

"I can help you."

Dean's mouth turned to the side as he pondered the request. "Well, I'm here, ain't I, Mother Theresa?"

Sam grinned. He gripped his hands closer together and sat silently apparently in thought, Dean noticed, but he wasn't for certain. Sam's eyes were closed, his lashes falling gently on his cheeks. Dean turned and tried to mimic Sam, tried to find an inner peace. All he found was the hum of the old heater kicking in, warming the room. His eyes opened and he shifted his knees further apart. He just couldn't get… comfortable. He rolled his neck, adjusted himself up front and when he reached back to pull on his underwear, Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Disgust.

"What?" he snapped. "What is it?"

Dean let his butt fall on his back haunches and he spread his arms out. "Is this _it_?"

"Yes, Dean, this is praying. This is what you do." Sam explained, irritated. He took in a breath and let it escape his body, feeling the strained distance between him and the body he was kneeling along with. Wanting so badly to tell him this _was_ it. This was their last chance. They had no other options available. Faith. Faith was it. And Sam had to have enough of it to save them both.

Dean shook his head. He let a snicker out and looked over at Sam. "What happens next? No one ever answers so it's just… what? A good feeling inside?" His tone was sarcastic and sharp, wanting to convince Sam that this truly was not the answer. There was something else out there. There had to be. Angels, God, Heaven. It was simple – they did not exist.

Sam rubbed his clasped hands with his thumb and felt his skin prickle at how aggravated he was with his brother. Deep down he had known Dean wouldn't be receptive to this. He knew it would take convincing, take time but they were short on seconds and Sam felt it in every muscle in his body. His internal clock ticked every single second, filling his ears with the realization that he would soon be alone. And that was something he could not accept.

"Listen, Dean…" he began not sure where he was heading, "when you pray, you say prayers and then you, you know… talk."

Dean sat up on his knees again, joining his little brother. "Talk? Talk to God?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the idea."

Dean paused a moment, bringing his hands back together and after briefly looking at Sam, he turned to stare straight ahead, just as his brother. Sam closed his eyes, Dean closed his. Sam took a deep breath in and exhaled, as did Dean. There was a moment of silence and then Sam said in a voice so gentle and soft it hummed at Dean's ears. "Dear God, please bless my Mom and my Dad. Please watch over them and keep them as safe as you possibly can. Please bless Jess. I miss her every day. Please let her feel that I care, that I love her always." Dean opened his eyes and focused on his baby brother. He found himself swallowing hard as Sam continued his tender request. "God, please, please, I beg you, please… please bless Dean. Please help him. Please let him see. Please, God, don't take him from me. Please, I beg you, let him live. We need help. Every day of his life he has done battle with evil. Every day he fights for others. And now… now he needs help. He needs the help of something we've never needed help from before, from you. Please, God, please help us…" Sam's voice cracked and he took a shaky breath into his lungs. "Because I have… a really great brother and I need…" Sam's voice trailed off and his head bowed down low to his hands. "him…with…me…please." Dean watched as his brother's shoulder bounced in a rhythmic motion and collapsed onto the mattress. No sound came from him, no words, just the silent jostle of his body.

Dean knelt, feeling an overwhelming fear come over him. He was scared to be there. Maybe this was too sacred of a place to be all of a sudden. He'd been cracking jokes and throwing disbelief at Sam ever since the café and now, seeing Sam, he realized he felt guilty. He reached his hand over to place on his brother and found himself hesitating, hovering above his spine, not sure what to do or where to even put his hand if he tried. He sighed and casually brought his hand back and clutched them back to his chest. He looked ahead at the same wall he'd been staring at and the same 1970's lamp with it's gold design. Funny, he thought, maybe it isn't a flower. It looks like a dove.

"God," Dean stopped right away. His voice was quaky and having said the name out loud was enough for him to not recognize his own sound. He cleared his throat and swallowed and tried again. "God, I'm… uh, Dean Winchester." He gave his name? He stopped again and shook his head. Who did he think he was talking to, Santa Claus? It actually kind of felt like he was. "I'm sitting here, with my brother… Sam and I, well, I kind of got myself into a bit of a pickle." He laughed at himself but he noticed that Sam's body had stopped shaking and he seemed to be listening. "I'm not sure what I'm suppose to do. Sam and I have looked into spells and rituals and unbinding ceremonies and… we're all out of ideas. Nothing has worked. My time is coming due and I don't know if I can pay the price, you know? I don't think my work here is done. I think I have more to do, more to give." Sam brought his arms in and slowly sat back up, joining his brother again, his face reddened by tears, his hair and eyebrows messed from suffocating in the bedspread. Sam looked at Dean with tears still in his eyes, sniffled a bit and gave him a small smile. Dean felt the sudden sting in his own eyes, surprised a bit that it was there. He waited, blinking them away, and smiled back at the younger man. "I don't want to leave, God. Please, I don't want to leave my brother." A single tear escaped down his Sam's cheek. Dean kept form, his eyes on Sam. "He's a good hunter, a smart hunter. He's a good man."

Sam took in a sniffled breath and couldn't help himself. The rain poured out of his eyes, falling quickly down his long face. He reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, squeezing. "My brother's a good man," he recited Dean's words back to him, crying, his heart crumbling.

Dean squeezed Sam's fingers hard, holding them tightly. He gave a calming look to his brother, ordering him with only his eyes – _deep breaths, Sammy, calm it down, I'm here, I'm not dead, I'm right here, next to you, breathe, baby_ – and Sam took in a breath, let it out and his tears started to let up.

"What am I gonna do, Dean?" Sam asked him like he was twelve years old and had brought home a "D" on his report card.

"Hopefully this will be enough," Dean replied, not believing it for one minute. But maybe a bit more hopeful then before they knelt in front of this altar built from a mattress.

Sam tilted his head. "But what if it's not?"

"I don't know, Sam," he sighed and let go of his brother's fingers, breaking the bond they temporarily held with one another. Sam looked down at his empty hand as Dean drew his back to him.

_No_, thought Sam, _the next time I grab your hand, it will be cold_.

"But you're strong. If it isn't enough, you'll be okay. You're stronger than me." Dean tried to explain this to him, tried to make them both believe it.

Sam shook his head and wetness spilled over again. "No…" he stammered. "No." It was all he could think of to say. Should your brother go to Hell? No. Should your brother die? No. You'll be okay when this is over, Sam, really you will. No! His body started quivering again, not sure how he would ever stop this time. Every shudder he created was another second passing by that he and Dean would never get back ever, ever again. He wanted Dean to reach out and take his hand again, coach him wordlessly to calm down, that it would be okay, but Dean wasn't moving. Dean repositioned his weight and cocked his head a bit, giving Sam a look of defeat. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down every so often, but his body sat guarded.

Sam took in a breath. "I won't stop fighting. I won't let them have you… without a fight."

And Dean knew. He knew he was telling the truth. He knew Sam would put himself in harms way, that he would attack the devil himself with only his body, if he had to. He knew they would beat him bloody and leave him curled in a ball. He knew he would hear Sam call his name and feel the ground rumble as Sam's feet kicked up Earth, running after him until he wasn't able to see anymore. He knew Sam would scoop his body up and hold onto it, try to breath life back in. He knew.

Sam watched as his brother gave him a small nod and looked away for a few seconds. Sam wanted to say more. They were now literally down to hours. Hours, minutes, then seconds. It was fleeting and Sam couldn't take it. The pain. He wished he was dead. He wished Dean had just left well enough alone and that he didn't have to go through this. He extended his back out, hoping Dean would pick it up. But he didn't. Sam brought it back to his own body and put it up to his eyes, not able to stop the tears from falling. He startled when he felt Dean's hand, firm on the back of his neck. He stiffened underneath it's palm as he felt Dean pull him close to him. Sam lunged for his brother, his long arms wrapping around Dean, hugging him tight. His face pressed into the strong shoulder of his older sibling and Sam sobbed.

Dean blinked his eyes, he felt the sting of tears returning, but he willed them away, nothing could show. He would be the strong one, one last time. He was the older brother, holding his baby brother as he slobbered all over him. And he didn't care. Not right now. He grasped his brother's t-shirt in his fists and brought him in as close as he could. "It'll be okay," he said, raspy, whiskey soft.

Sam nodded, twisting his fingers in Dean's shirt.

"This'll work."

Sam nodded, clutching Dean's back.

"Have faith, Sammy."

And Sam cried. And let it flood out of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The morning light came too soon, filtering in through the skimpy maroon hotel curtains. Dean had already awoken, he had watched the sun come up from his balcony, sitting on the shadowed cement, peering through the cold iron gates of the banister. The sun seemed to fly up that morning, too excited to start it's day. Winter was gone and Spring was just arriving and the birds were stirring by it's warmth immediately, chirping and flapping in their nests, rustling the early leaves in the trees nearby. Dean shut his eyes as the sun found a spot to rest, letting his own face feel it's morning rays and then hung his head down, _please, God, let me have another day. Let me see tomorrow and the next day and the next._ He looked over to his right. Sam sat there with him, not able to sleep at all that night, his eyes were closed tight, his lips shooting prayers, violently and delicately mixed together in hopes someone would hear.

They had retreated back to the room, showered, shaved, dressed, packed and now were sitting across from one another.

"Hungry?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nah."

"It may be better, you know, if we eat. Maybe keep our strength up."

Dean shot him a look. Sam read it right away and closed his mouth. After all this time, he finally knew what shut up meant.

Dean got up and looked around the room. "You sure you don't want to keep it another night?"

Sam shook his head, gulped and said, "I think I'm going to want to hit the road after… tonight."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's what I would do." He agreed. _God, please let me be there, too. Please._

Sam picked up his duffle and his laptop bag and headed for the door. Dean grabbed his gear as well and followed behind. He stopped and thought about taking a last look around and then decided against it, nothing there mattered and he wasn't one for jinxing himself.

Sam had decided it best to lay low in the town that day, which they did. He asked about the churches in the area and the visited four of them. Baptist, Christian, and two Catholic churches as they thought maybe the candles they lit there would benefit them. They knelt in front of altars and stained glass windows, statues of the Virgin Mary and statues of Jesus. They anointed themselves with holy water and kissed crucifixes. They laid their hands on the bible and sang a couple of hymns. And when the sun began to set, they made sure their guns were pumped, rock salt, iron, steel. Double-checked they had their knives on their bodies and their gas can was full.

Armed, they went to the cemetery in the Southern portion of the small town. It was typical of most graveyards, lots of hills, old parts and new parts, large tombstones and flat ones. They would take a stab and make another attempt to break the deal their way, the old fashioned way, the Winchester way. Sam had found some old black magic art, deep in a case from one of their almost forgotten hunts, Dean had brought a torch and he already had a knife for when it came time to cut himself. The brothers found the highest point of the cemetery and began a reversal chant. Sam placed the black magic artwork on the ground, setting a small mound of dirt on top of it, adding a bit of holy water and stepped back, continuing his chant.

"Om tryambakam yajamahe

Sugandhim pushti-vardhanm

Urva-rukamiva banhanan…"

Dean knelt in front of the paper alter, the fifth one he'd been in front of that day and began renouncing Satan, renouncing the Devil.

"I renounce thee, I relinquish thy name, I abandon you and all images like you, I reject those you have created and those who follow you, I will fight you, I will destroy you, I will not become one of you or your kind." Dean took the steel knife from his back pocket, turned it on it's side and slit his palm, the hint of red quickly running down his thumb, dripping onto the artwork down below. He spattered the paper with his essence, which blended in the art and looked eerily like part of a dark pattern merging together to make a masterpiece. Dean stood up, grabbed the lit torch and threw it on the paper alter, the flames shooting up towering towards the sky. It crackled, it popped, the paper shriveled as tiny pieces of soot floated above them. The brothers looked at one another. It felt like any ordinary fire. Where were the tents and the marshmallows? Nothing magical seemed to happen, Dean certainly didn't feel free.

Sam's hands fell onto his thighs, clamping them tightly. He watched the fire. "Oh, God." The words caught in his throat, he said it so quietly, so sadly. Dean knew what he meant, there was no need to respond. It was pure disappointment.

Dean threw his hands up into the air, he spun around on his heels and seriously considered slamming his fist into a stone shrine, adorned with family names he would never know. "**FUCK**!" he screamed. "**FUCK**!" His legs gave a quick shake and he feel down to his knees, the ground accepting them, sinking them down, making a muddy bed for them. His head fell into his hands and he scratched at his eyes, pulled at his spiky hair. "Fuck."

Sam was taken a back by the sudden display of emotion, rare, raw, Dean. He reached a gawky arm towards his brother when Dean spun around, his body leaned forward when Dean slumped and now that he was without words as his brother appeared in front of him broken. Sam took a breath in and exhaled, "Dean…"

_Woof_! It came from far off in the night, both of their heads snapped at the sound.

"What time is it, Sammy?" Dean stood up, bracing himself, hands protectively held into the night air.

Sam looked at his watch. The second hand wasn't moving, it was stuck on 11:27. "I… I'm not sure."

_Woof_!

"God damn, their sending the hounds of hell!" He looked over at Sam and pulled his knife back out. "Their sending the _dogs_!"

Another woof came, followed by a cackle. Then a screech and a siren sound that forced Sam to put his hands over his ears for a brief second, realizing that didn't help. The siren began to fade and Sam looked up to see the dark shadows flying towards them, no faces, no real bodies, eyes of varying colors, piercing towards them. The air picked up, quickly seeming to guide their assailants closer to them. One zeroed in on Sam and swooped down browsing his hair, staring at him, reading his face. Sam's neck cracked back at the startle of this flying demon as it sailed on by him. Another flew down and did the same thing, as many of them began to circle high above the brothers, daunting them with the power they currently held over them. Before either one could react, the monsters appeared to divide into two, one half swarming at Sam, the other towards Dean.

Their feet couldn't take them from the hilltop fast enough. Sam running to the South, Dean running to the North. The immediate separation felt by both brothers. Dean looked back and called out a quick, "Sam!" but no answer returned to him. Sam was already on the run, he had always been much faster on his feet than his older brother. He had hopped tombstones and dashed over flags, his feet grazing a few flat markers on his way down the hill. When he hit the bottom, his breathing was erratic, how was he going to get back to Dean? He had to find another way to climb up the hill, undetected. But he was already detected. There was no escaping this. The fiends had Sam locked the entire time. There was no going back up the hill for Dean this time.

Dean ran, his hands jutting out above his head, swiping at figures diving down to suck the soul out of his body. He cursed at them, grunting under his breath, swore at the devil's name. The ground was slippery from an earlier rain, the sun had dried part of it, leaving some areas dry and other areas slick under his feet.

"Woof!" he heard her bark, saw the flash of her red eyes and watched as the dog lurching in front of him changed it's form into a dark, black figure. It pushed itself up into the air and came back down, feet first to meet with Dean's confounded head. Dean never really knew what hit him, it was all a jumbled puzzle. He thought he had passed out, but if he had, he had recouped quickly.

He found himself laying face down, pinned near a dark tombstone. It was prepaid, the future occupants hadn't died yet, Dean thought how stupid it was that he was actually reading the stone as someone – or something was holding him down. His head was shoved hard into the cold ground. He tried with everything in him to turn, turn his head a little to see what, who was it that was holding him there. He felt no hands, just pressure. His eyes turned as far back as they could in his sockets, sending pain shooting into his brain from the torturous looks. He couldn't see anything. And then he felt a swoop above his head and another and a scream that followed the next swoop suddenly filled the sky. It came in piercing, high, screaming as if a woman was giving birth… or dying. He felt what he thought was a bite come from his lower back, but he wasn't sure. What he was sure of was the pain. Dean bellowed out a deep cry, still straining to see what it was.

He wondered for a second – where was Sam?

Off in the near distance, he saw a light shine at him, a familiar light. He turned his head forward and gazed out beyond the stones to where the Impala was parked. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus – her headlights were on. Was Sam in the car?

"Sam!" Dean screamed out. No answer.

The impala seemed to be still, with the headlights on as though someone maybe needed to see a bit better in the dark. A boom came from the dash and then another, he swore he heard a horn from a band. What was that music filling his now pained ears?

_When I die and they lay me to rest_

_Gonna go to the place that's the best_

_When I lay me down to die_

_Gonna up to the spirit in the sky _

Jesus, Dean thought, no. My baby can't be possibly playing that. He looked up and the light from the headlights started to flood into the graveyard, getting bigger, brighter and warmer. It seemed someone was _walking_ towards him. _Go away_, he wanted to scream, _not safe_.

"Shit." He heard something from behind him rumble. Dean attempted to look up further, but the pain from the pressure was too much. He could see the ground around him lightening up as it approached and it seem to warm on his cheek. The demon above him crushed down on Dean's neck and he heard her call out, "Bunker down boys!" And the rest of his body was pinned hard into the ground. Dean winced, grunting under his breath.

There was few seconds of silence as the light became brighter and then the demon holding Dean snarled, "Abia." The name dripped from her lips in a long, twined frothy spit that hit Dean's bare neck and immediately burned his skin.

Dean yelped.

"Don't move, Dean," the voice from Abia came, almost like a sonnet. Dean turned his head and his eyes up as far as they could go. She stood there, staring into the eyes of the demon holding Dean down. Abia looked majestic from the ground, bright and beautiful. She stared into the creature, who was still unseen to Dean. Abia's eyes focused and then she called, "Mara."

The demon made a low moan towards Abia. She shifted her weight above Dean. "You have come for _him_?" she asked seeming to taunt the lady in white. "He is nothing to you."

Strange, Dean realized that the insult, was meant to impact Abia and her mission, but in that moment Dean felt the hurt from the demon's words deep inside, perhaps touching his condemned soul. He let out a groan as the pressure from above weighted him, sinking him into the muddy ground.

"He. Is. Mine." Abia's words were fierce, her arms spread wide and Dean felt a shift above him, a sightless tormented soul scrambling off his body, he lifted his butt out of the mud for a brief second before it came crashing back down.

"Stay!" Mara yelled out. "Do not wither! Stay!"

Dean moved his left leg, it felt as though the burden holding it there before had flown away, leaving his leg his again. He attempted to move his upper body, arching his back more, trying to get a better view of what was going on.

"I said, don't move, Dean." Abia warned him. Dean lay still.

Mara glared at her opponent. She held tight to her prisoner. "You will have to fight for him."

"I will do anything for him," Abia promised.

At that moment, Dean felt two very real sensations. The first being the fleeting of many of his captors hovering his body, falling from the light into the darkness where they came before. Mara held on, imploring them to stay, stay with her. Not to waiver. A few followed her orders, but Dean could feel his body belonging to him again. The second was an incredible knot that just grew in the pit of his stomach. _Anything for him_. He shook his head in disbelief and tried to gaze up to Abia. Did she not see? When she looked at him, at the scars on his body, did she not see who he really was? The monster that lived inside of him, the killer. How was she able to look over that. Dean wanted to shout out, warn her that she was making a mistake. At the very least, he wanted to throw up. He ached all over. _I'm not worth this_, he thought. _I'm not worth this_.

Mara let out a roar, calling to all in the graveyard. She reached down and flipped Dean onto his back, giving him the first look at his vanquisher. She was a slender brunette, muscles ripping from her biceps her hair flowing back almost in a blaze with the wind. Her eyes were red, her lips were crimson and her teeth were jagged, long and grayish, oozing saliva that burned like acid. Dean's eyes filled with her physical power, she was perched like a cougar, ready to pounce on her prey.

Dean's eyes flew up to Abia. She stood in his field of vision. Wearing white, of course, her plump form seemed to have grown a size or two since the pancakes. She smiled sweetly at him, her plump face dimpling and Dean felt utter beauty fly through his body momentarily. He quickly regained himself, quietly sizing up the competition. This was suppose to be the major bitch fest he had envisioned? A cougar against a marshmallow. _Fuck_, Dean thought, _we're toast_. Then a blink and thought of his little brother, somewhere in the cemetery. Lost. _I am so not worth this_, he wedged into this thoughts again.

"Stop it," Abia seemed unraveled at the enemy in front of her. "You are worth every breath."

Dean's eyes watched in repulsion as Mara's already animal-ish face seemed to contort into a red eyed monster, her gray fangs enlarged, her cheekbones seemed to crack underneath her skin, exposing hard bone. She commanded one of her followers to attack with a roar from her belly. A black flash occurred out of Dean's peripheral vision and he looked up to see Abia's hand strike out hard and the flash exploded into a poof of smoke. Another one came at her and the angel's other hand rose, palm out and again the blackness resulted in a small puff of smoke, raising up into the atmosphere.

Dean noticed both his legs were mobile again, he was able to move his fingers, the only thing that appeared to be still holding him down was the lone demon, Mara.

"I'll give you one warning," Abia said. "You will not win."

Mara growled at her opponent, the saliva still trickling down, paining Dean's skin. "He's mine!" She screeched and jumped towards the portly woman in white.

Abia braced her legs and put both arms in front of her body. Mara's body traveled the distance in a second, ready to shred the angel to bits of fairy dust. Abia's hands never even seemed to touch the animal as she tossed her aside like she was a bag of garbage.

Dean sat up and looked at Abia. Abia's eyes locked in on his. "I said, don't move!" she hollered and swiped a hand at him, immediately the invisible force pushed him back on the ground. Just as she adverted her attention to him, Mara took the welcoming distraction and clawed at Abia's face, revealing four bleeding tears across her pudgy cheeks instantly.

Dean frowned. Angels could bleed.

Abia darted an angry eye in Dean's direction and then focused back to Mara. The demon rocked back and forth on her swift feet, testing the magical shield Abia appeared to have around her. She snarled and huffed and tossed herself towards the protector. Her claws were in full spring, one still dripping red from her previous minor victory, her teeth were ready to taste real blood, pure blood. Mara lunged with her entire body, Abia spread her arms open wide as to receive her in a warm embrace and just when the animal meet her target, the chubby woman took the demon's face into her hands and without an effort, snapped her neck.

Mara's body fell in a slump at Abia's feet. Abia knelt down and quietly whispered into her ears, which no longer were able to hear and she then took a step back. The body seemed to sink a little as the ground cracked and crumbled and accepted the animal back down to the unknown, where it had once came from.

Abia shot Dean a look of satisfaction. "The deals off," she pointed to the sky, " orders from above." Abia smiled, so sweetly and extended her hand towards the great hunter, pulling him up to his feet, letting him weigh them again under his own power. Dean looked at the woman, amazed he hadn't noticed the magnificence she exhumed before. Her plumpness, her eyes, it was almost more than he could handle.

Dean stood, still mesmerized by her when he felt a cold enter from behind him that sent chills down his spine. Abia's eyes darted to what was behind him and Dean quickly turned to face a white-eyed demon.

"Lillith." Dean said, though never meeting her, he was fairly positive on her identity. She was a blond ten year old child with white eyes, her distinctiveness giving herself away.

Abia took a protective step forward, "Deals off," she repeated, her voice commanding.

Lililth immediately stopped in her tracks, she smiled, seeming to want to make Abia feel she was musing her. The angel recognized the hesitation, though, as weakness. The demon looked at Dean and the rip in his shirt caused from the previous fiends biting his flesh. "That's going to leave a nasty bruise." She licked her lips and then turned her head, Dean was gradually able to see that surrounding her were other demons in human forms, breathing heavily, some with red eyes, green eyes, but most with eyes blacker than the night. "But, it's okay. You really weren't our first choice anyway."

Dean's own eyes broadened. Oh my God, Where was Sam? "But, " he started with Lillith, "you made the deal, me for Sam. You already had Sam. Why would you make the deal if you already had him?"

"They never had Sam," Abia announced from behind him. "The entire time you had Sam on that broken down bed not breathing, we were fighting for him."

"Yeah, and they were gonna win, until you decided to call upon us and seal a deal."

Dean looked at Abia, hoping the demon lied. Abia gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," was all she offered.

"But you said," Dean's temper was elevating, "You said you'd help us."

Abia nodded her head. "God answered Sam's prayer, Dean. I was sent here to help him help me help you. Sam never prayed to save himself."

A far off distant yelp from Sam came from across the graveyard. Dean struggled to see, but the darkness clouded his sight and judgment. He turned desperate to Abia. "Can you help me?"

She reached her hand out to him and softly patted his shoulder. "Lift your voice up and let yourself be heard. You don't have much time. You must ask for His help now. Pray."

Another bellow from Sam came from the deep where Dean's eyes could not see but now that his legs were his again, they would travel him there. He shot out towards his little brothers screams, jumping over headstones, pulling his foot from mud. "Sam!" he hollered back, in an effort to get his brother to call back to him. "Sam! _**Please**_!"

Dean heard nothing as he dashed the cemetery, he sky above him was darker than he had ever noticed before, the air was cold and heavy, making it difficult for Dean to breathe, let alone run in the dirt and muck. His heart beat faster and his hand slid his on a tombstone as his knees buckled for a second. He felt his body plunge into the Earth and he rested his hand on the tombstone for a moment, taking in a breath. "Sam!" He yelled again and then he thought he heard something off to his left. He clambered back to his feet, with help from the tall stone and took off running again.

"Please, God, " Dean murmured as he ran this time, "please, save Sammy. God, please… Oh, Father, who art in Heaven," his footing skidded for a moment and then his body jerked in recovery. "Let my brother be okay. I need him to live, he needs to live. Let us go on and work for you, for others in need. Please help him. He needs you. You are all that can help him now. Please, God." Dean's voice rose his throat as he cleared a small hill and saw Sam at the bottom of the next hill, surrounded by death. Tombstones encircled him, dark shadowy forms hovered over him. One would swoop down and bite him, another would dart across and steal essence from his body, his soul. Dean lost his breath viewing this massacre. "Sam!" Dean tried to run down the hill, but began sliding and ended up tumbling down the majority of it, as if he were playing Jack in _Jack and Jill_. He landed with a thud against a large stone and looked back. No one came tumbling after him. Dean bolted up, heading for the assault still occurring on his baby brother. "Stay away from him!" He screamed. "God! Please, help him! Help my brother!" Dean reached into his back pocket. There was no knife. He had no shotgun, no holy water, no crucifixes, nothing. He watched as Sam arched his back, on all fours. His arm swiped in front of him, weak and tired, his shoulders sagged and Dean knew he wouldn't be able to fight much longer. He looked around in the graveyard. He couldn't see anyone, no lady in white coming to the rescue. Where was Abia? Anyone? He fell to his knees and fastened his eyes on his brother. Sam looked ahead.

"Dean," he whispered.

Dean closed his eyes, not bearing to hear his name. "Please, please, please, God. Please help him, please. He's my family. He's my home." Dean begged softly. His body swayed and his hands came together, fingers fitting like a puzzle. "I love him, don't let them take him. Please, deliver him from evil."

With those last words Dean felt his insides shake. He opened his eyes and saw that slowly beaming down from the sky, a large white light broke out of the dark. Blackened forms fell from Sam, whimpering, shrieking, back to their hiding places. Some didn't fair as well and as the light covered them, they exploded into little mounds of smoke each with their own distinct yell. The light continued until it held Sam, lone on the dirt of the Earth. Dean gazed at his brother, he was lying still, on his stomach, his arms stretched over his head. Dean crawled on his hands and knees towards the beam, but stopped short of it. Not knowing if he was allowed to enter through it. He lifted an arm up and laid his hand, palm out up to touch the ray. Warmth. Oh, my God, it was so warm. Dean went up on his knees and felt the warmth with his other hand, pressing his cheeks and his body to it. It felt so… lovely. Loving. A surge went through Dean's body and the light quickly dissolved, leaving Dean to fall forward, just catching himself with his descending hands. He looked up at Sam's unmoving body and hurried himself over to him.

"Sam?" he called out, tension in his voice.

Nothing.

"Sam?" he reached his brother and turned him over. Sam's face was ashen, his lips pale. A single tear ran out of Sam's right eye as Dean pulled him up to face him. "Sam?" his voice was more powerful, more commanding. Dean swallowed hard and wiped the wetness off of Sam's cheek. Sam gave no signs of movement. Dean pushed himself up against a large tombstone behind him, resting his back there. He reached over and grabbed Sam's collar, pulling his body up against Dean's, bringing his arms around his brother's chest. Sam's head fell back and sunk into Dean's shoulder. Ever so gently and trying not to notice how badly his finger was shaking, Dean laid his index and middle fingers against Sam's carotid artery and waited. _Nothing_.

A sob hiccupped from Dean as his body started to quake. "No," he whispered. "God, no, please, please." Tears streamed down his face, sobs racked his torn body. He took in a shaky breath and tried to calm himself down, pressing his fingers onto the carotid harder. He waited. A weak lub-dub.

Oh, my God.

Another weak lub-dub. And another. It was there, weak, but there. Each time, the throb made Dean's fingertips tickle a little, his excitement started to take over him.

"Sam?" He called out to him, shaking his brother's body. Sam didn't move, but he let a long breath out. Dean closed his eyes in relief and the tears couldn't stop spilling from his eyes. He rested his chin onto the top of Sam's head and whispered to him, "That's it, Sammy. In and out, you're gonna be okay. In and out, I gotcha, baby." He'd pick him and carry him out of this Hellhole if he had to. He'd done it before, away from hot flames, he was prepared to do it again.

Sam's head rolled forward and his eyes fluttered open. He looked up at his brother and frowned. "What? Where?"

And then hardhearted Dean - the thief, the killer, the liar, the hunter, the protector - kissed his brother's head. "Shhh, it's okay."

Sam blinked, the sky coming into view above him. His back ached, his shoulders fell heavy on his brother, his legs felt numb. "Dean," he said, still a bit groggy, "am I sick?"

Dean blinked away more tears. "Yeah, Sammy, you're sick."

"He likes to be called Sam." A voice came from above them. The brothers looked up and saw Abia standing in front of them, angelically looking down upon them. Dean wiped at his eyes, his arms wrapped back around his brother and he looked at her, with all the gratefulness that was left inside of him.

"Thank-you." Dean fumbled.

Abia shook her head. "I didn't do anything, not really."

Memories were starting to reenter Sam's mind. He sat up a little, still pressed against his brother. He looked over to his left, to Dean. "I think God saved me," he said not quite a question, but not quite a statement.

Dean nodded. "I think so, too."

Abia was smiling. "No, Dean, _you_ saved Sam." She glanced down at the younger Winchester, "And _you_ saved Dean. Just as your parents did before." And then very sternly, her eyes narrowing, "And remember – never, ever, _ever_, **ever**, _**ever**_ do this again. You can't keep cheating death." She reminded.

Dean and Sam nodded.

Sam looked at Abia, she seemed to be fading in the night air. "Will we ever see you again?"

She shook her head. Quietly she pressed her finger to her lips. "I'll tell them." She promised. And with that, her form twisted into a show of white, tornado speed, blowing the dirt and debris around the young hunters and spun up until the boys could no longer see her.

Sam tried to sit up more, Dean encouraging him with his hands. The brothers broke apart from one another, Dean still resting on the mighty stone, Sam now leaning back on his hind haunches.

"What do you think she meant –I'll tell them." Sam wondered aloud.

Dean clumsily stood up, offering his hand to is little brother, who graciously accepted. "Dunno." Then he paused. "But right before she left, I was thinking about her going to back up and seeing Mom."

"And Jess," Sam interjected. "I was thinking about how much I loved them."

Dean smiled. "I think they got the message."

The roar of the Impala echoed through the cemetery, as well as the brother's ears. Sam opened the car door and climbed into the seat next to Dean. They gazed down the hills, the shiny headstones glistening by the light of the moon, twinkling back at them. The brothers turned their heads from the terrain and fixed their eyes on the road ahead of them. Dean put the car in gear and road it out of the gates, neither Winchester looking back. The sky was lightening up as they drove away from the small town, dawn was already starting to make an appearance.

_I got another day_, Dean thought, smiling to himself. He glanced over at Sam, whose head had fallen onto the cold glass of the window, his eyes closed peacefully, his hands wrapped around himself. _Sammy. Thank God_.

The impala hit a bump in the road, Dean caught the steering wheel as the car bounced, reclaiming control easily. Sam's head hit the window with a smack and he turned and frowned at Dean. "We there yet?" he asked tiredly.

"Where?" Dean threw back, puzzled.

Sam was silent for a few seconds. "I guess I was dreaming," his reply came, "thought we were with Dad." He sat up in the passenger seat and bleary looked down the road. "Dean?"

Dean glimpsed up. "Hmm?"

"You okay?"

"I am." He shot a small, but reassuring smile at his baby brother. "You good, Sam?"

He nodded. "Dude, I think they bit me. You couldn't get there any faster?"

Dean smirked at him. "Hey, you heard the angel. _I_ saved your ass." He paused and then added, "Bitch."

Sam smiled underneath his sore skin. "Jerk." He stretched his long arms out and folded them behind his head, curling up on the seat, trying to find comfort. The heater blew on his face, filling his senses with the leathery pancake smell the Impala had accustomed herself to. He nestled in, feeling his body start to drift to sleep. His eyes fluttered open one more time, seeing his older brother's hands on the wheel and the dim headlights on the road. Morning was coming. He cleared his throat. "It feels good to be home," he softly said and gave himself to the sandman.


End file.
